


Assaggio il suo profumo

by CamilleDuDemon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal wants to eat Will so bad, M/M, Masturbation, Will's scent is arousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 22:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleDuDemon/pseuds/CamilleDuDemon
Summary: With a slow, controlled move of his wrist, Hannibal Lecter begins to stroke himself.Behind his closed eyelids, Will Graham shows himself off in his glorious nudity.Of course Hannibal has never seen him naked: it would be extremely unprofessional to follow him home and wait for him to take his clothes off to have a shower or whatsoever.Yet, sometimes, that twisted thought has crossed his mind.





	Assaggio il suo profumo

Hannibal Lecter likes his baths long, warm and relaxing.

The day he met Will Graham for the first time, his baths had become... _definitely hotter._

The best way to enjoy a _pleasurable_ bath is with a good opera background, so the high fidelity stereo system is spreading Cecilia Bartoli's powerful voice all around the house.

Hannibal hums, pouring a generous amount of bath salts into his granite and porcelain tub, his nostrils immediately filling with the earthy scent of sandalwood and patchouli.

It doesn't matter, though: every single fragrance he smells reminds him of Will Graham's scent, anyway.

The psychiatrist steps into the warm water, enjoying the sensation of being enveloped in such a gracious warmth.

_Will Graham is warm._

He's warm, and desperate and needy.

He's alone, and he smells of old, dusty clothes and cheap aftershave, with a hint of dog hair and obscure shampoo brand.

With a slow, controlled move of his wrist, Hannibal Lecter begins to stroke himself.

Behind his closed eyelids, Will Graham shows himself off in his glorious nudity.

Of course Hannibal has never seen him naked: it would be extremely unprofessional to follow him home and wait for him to take his clothes off to have a shower or whatsoever.

Yet, sometimes, that twisted thought has crossed his mind.

It's not difficult to picture what Will Graham's clothes could hide, though.

A slender waist.

Broad, pale shoulders with a smooth skin.

Maybe some moles sprayed here and there, dark and perfectly round.

A slightly muscular chest, with a few, dark hair.

The man starts to pump himself faster, his cock twitching underwater.

Yes, Will Graham would be astonishingly beautiful without a shred of clothe on.

But Will is not just a beautiful creature. He's a lot more than that.

He's pure empathy.

He's something – _like Hannibal himself, after all_ – totally different from any other man who has ever walked the earth.

And his uniqueness reflects on his scent, some frangarnce that Hannibal Lecter cannot even decode.

If the ultimate fragrance could somehow exist, Hannibal is sure it would undoubtedly be Will Graham's scent.

_Sometimes he thinks he wants to taste it._

What would it be like to have Will Graham on his tongue? To have his scent tickling his palate like the finest Italian wine?

His cock twitches at the thought, painfully hard into his tight fist.

A low groan escapes from his half-open mouth.

He can even figure it.

Will exposing the thin skin of the perfumed crook of his neck and him _devouring it_ , _gnawing it, mauling the sweet muscle and finally decoding his fragrance on his tongue._

_Will Graham enjoying every single second of his own destruction, even hungry for more._

He can hear him beg to be eaten, his voice husky with desire and fear.

The well- known smell of fear hits his sensitive nose, and Hannibal can't help but throw his head back with a jolt of pleasure.

He's sure that even Will's fear would be a joy to be smelled.

Some kind of sour, yet gentle scent, maybe even sweet, with a hint bloody copper taste.

The orgasm hits him while he's picturing Will Graham wantonly licking his his own blood from his lips.

In his fantasy, Will is always covered in blood.

Naked and wild, finally unleashed, starving for his own flesh and completely lost in his deepest desires.

For the first time in years, Hannibal Lecter feels drained.

_Killing people is less strenuous than thinking about Will Graham, apparently._

The psychiatrist lets out a faint laugh at his own thought, humming the last notes of _Agitata da due venti._

He's tired.

Tired and satisfied, as if he had just finished his best work on a prey, he gracefully lays on the leather couch, long legs hanging idly from the soft headrest.

Cecilia Bartoli is now singing _Aramatae face et anguibus._

Hannibal smirks, his nostrils still filled with Will Graham's exquisite scent.

“Soon, my dear Will...”, he chants, anticipating his savory taste on his lips.

 

_Soon._

 

 

 

 


End file.
